Sweetest
by Primsong
Summary: When bee hives turn up mysteriously empty of their honey, the Third Doctor and Jo are sent out to find out why. A gentle spring adventure with a scoop of fluff.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This started off as a little vignette for Valentine's day, hence the double scoops of fluff in the resulting short story. It is a relatively gentle tale for spring, with a touch of foreshadowing for Jo's upcoming changes in her next trip out toward Wales._

**Chapter 1**

"So here's the problem in a nutshell," Jo was saying, reading over the papers they'd been given that morning and trying to find a way to summarize. She looked over at where the Doctor was tinkering with one of the obscure pieces he as forever pulling out of his box, his morning tea untouched. "Are you listening?"

"Of course I'm listening," he grumbled softly without lifting his head from his work. "I'm trying to line up these circuits on a sub-micronic level so don't expect me to be jumping up to applaud the Brigadier's brilliant ideas this time around."

She was intrigued. "Have you ever really done that?"

"Maybe, but I sincerely hope not."

Jo picked up her own tea to sip at and turned the first page over. "All over Britain, apiaries are reporting bee hive boxes going missing. They then turn back up again, sometimes at another part of the country entirely and they're nearly entirely emptied."

"They return them," the Doctor echoed in an undertone to prove he was listening.

"Emptied. Right."

"With or without bees?"

"Um, the bees are still there."

"So they've a problem with honey-thieves who don't want to raise bees themselves," the Doctor said, glancing over at her. "I fail to see why that would involve UNIT." He fished among the tiny jeweler's tools he had scattered over the workbench and selecting one, submerged into his project again.

"It says some beekeepers and their neighbors have reported a humming and strange lights at night that correspond with the boxes being taken. There's a map showing all the wheres and whens, it looks a bit like a big zig-zaggy figure eight going around the island."

"What sort of strange lights?" He dropped the tool back into the pile and chose a different one. "Does it say what makes them think they're strange?"

She frowned at the paper. "It just says 'strange' here. Oh, wait," she flipped another page over and ran a finger down it. "Here we go…one witness said it was kind of purple and in a circle in the air. Another saying purple essentially, lavender anyway, and up at the top of the trees. The third says it was blinking blue and kept interrupting him."

"What?"

"Oh, nevermind, missed the little asterisk; he'd been into their homemade mead just before that. But they did have their beehive go missing and someone else's box show up instead. You must admit all those lights in the sky sounds like something for us."

"I suppose. Shouldn't be too difficult an investigation if there's already a pattern. The boxes are obviously lifted to remove the honey, but then they're in too much of a hurry to just stay there and get the job done …"

"So they drop them off at the next stop," Jo agreed. "Which is why they're all scattered."

"Hm." He set aside his project and stood up, straightening his back. "Let me look something up," he said and disappeared into the blue box that waited patiently in the corner.

At the sound of a rapping on the door frame, Jo turned to find the friendly face of Sergeant Benton peeking in the doorway. He gave her a little hat-tipping gesture. "Good morning, Miss. The Brigadier wanted me to check in with you and see if the Doctor's read this morning's report yet. I think he wants to know when he'll be heading out to investigate."

"We just finished reading it," Jo said, gesturing towards the TARDIS. "He's looking something up. I think. That's if he doesn't get distracted with something else in there and disappear for the rest of the day."

"Why would I do that?" the Doctor asked dryly, stepping back into the lab. "Running errands for the Brigadier is so much more interesting, of course."

"Oh come now," Jo chided. "You were saying just yesterday that we ought to go out for a drive or something."

"I was talking about out of this solar system."

"Well, this is kind of like that. Only smaller."

"Looking up something about those bees?" Benton nudged, still waiting for his answer.

"Honey," the Doctor said.

"Yes, darling?" Jo grinned. At his blank look she added, "Never mind, it's an old joke. What did you find?"

"The TARDIS had some information that might be pertinent. Bee's honey is somewhat unique. There are other creatures that produce similar useful substances but few so perfected as the Earth honeybee. The application varies according to what species is using it, of course."

"What species?" Benton asked. "You mean," he said, waving a couple fingers in vaguely orbiting patterns, "Other things out there are using our honey?"

"Not always for eating, but yes," the Doctor nodded.

"I have a shampoo that has honey in it," Jo nodded in understanding. "Though it just smells like soap to me. You mean like that?"

He smiled at her. "Good enough. Now, some Earth originated honeybees have been successfully cultivated on other planets in modified greenhouse situations. The cost is, as you can well imagine, sometimes prohibitive."

"And therefore the honey…"

"Has been equated with various golden coloured valuable substances, yes. Exotic, rare and so on."

"I kind of like that idea," she said cheerfully. "It's nice to hear our dear old Earth is good for something out there."

"So they're after contraband?" Benton put in. "If it's so valuable, why don't we see bee boxes going missing all the time?"

The Doctor shook his head. "It's illegal," he pronounced seriously. "The Earth honeybee is a protected species, much too important for the ecosystem."

"So it's a bit like a zoo?" Jo said, warming to the subject. "Where they can, you know, breed lions and monkeys and things, but you aren't supposed to go fetch them from the wild because there's not enough of them."

"A very good analogy. No one's taken fresh 'wild' bees for centuries except by very rare limited permit."

Benton leaned back against the doorframe. "Could this be one of those permits, then?"

"No. According to the TARDIS' records, the one for this bicentennial was used up as soon as it was valid. That was part of the decline in the honeybees in the early part of the century, you know, overharvesting. Thankfully, the bees did recover. Whomever is behind what we're seeing here would be 130-odd years too early even if they were legitimate, which I find highly unlikely."

"But why Britain?" Jo wondered. "There's no mention of this happening in other countries."

Benton nodded in agreement. "That's right. We've had a couple lads calling about to research. It's only here."

The Doctor shrugged and picked up the electronic piece he'd been working on before he'd been interrupted, examining it in the light before blowing on it and tucking it into a box of similar bits he'd been accumulating on the table. "From a planetary viewpoint, Britain is quite small. They may have simply made the mistake of assuming a small country wouldn't have the resources to realize anything was wrong or to track what was happening."

"So you'll go?" Benton persisted.

"You're very single-minded this morning, Sergeant," the Doctor noted.

Benton shrugged apologetically. "My tea is getting cold."

"Ah, positively catastrophic consequences if we delay, Jo."

"Then we'll have to leave straightaway," she agreed with mock seriousness. "In a car."

"A car?" the Doctor said with exaggerated disappointment. "All right, Miss Grant, if you insist."

"All right then, off I go. Just don't make a liar of me this time," Benton said good-humouredly, pulling the lab door shut with a parting wave.

"Let me see that map, Jo." The Doctor took the papers and pored over them as she went to dump the rest of their morning pot of tea into a thermos and fetch coats. She came back, dropping his driving cloak around his shoulders where he sat scribbling something. He absently poked his arms though the armholes and jotted a couple more notes. "Whoever it is has been quite predictable," he said. "If they continue in the same pattern, here's their next stop." He tapped the map. "And better yet, it's been hit before so there might be evidence we could gather ahead of time.

"Why, that's clear out past Birmingham, practically to Wales," Jo said. "Why don't we wait a day or two until they swing around to our end?"

"You said you wanted a drive," the Doctor pointed out. "And we did promise Sergeant Benton."

"Well, yes, all right," she acceded, glancing out the window. "At least the weather is nice. I like it better with the top down."

"Good. Have someone call this apiary to let them know we're coming. I'll get Bessie warmed up."

. . .

"You've been quiet," the Doctor noted. While he tended to be preoccupied when driving and didn't necessarily give Jo's chatter a lot of attention, he had noticed it was subdued that morning.

She turned from where she'd been watching the countryside going past and brushed her windblown hair out of her eyes. "Sorry. I was just thinking. You know that factory we passed a while back?"

"Yes?"

"I was just watching all that horrid smoke going up into the air, and I couldn't help wondering if there isn't any way I ought to be helping with it. With stopping it, I mean. What kind of future can we humans have if we can't even keep our own planet clean? I mean, there're chemicals in just everything anymore. It just seems…_evil_, somehow."

"That's overstating a bit, I think," he noted. "Most chemicals are naturally occurring in one form or another. It's the misapplication that causes harm."

"Or _over_application," Jo said. "I think there's just too much of it. They should be banned."

"With judicious care," he said. "Some of the current agricultural advances keep people from starvation. And as I said, they aren't all unnatural, many are merely being applied with new knowledge."

"All right then, we should keep the natural ones, but there's got to be ways to feed people without all these artificial… _things_ being put in." She looked back out at the rows of houses going by then turned back again. "I know I haven't been much help with the scientific side of things, but I'm trying to learn. If anyone was doing research on how to make more natural food, I wish I could help."

She was quiet again for a few minutes then suddenly asked. "Honey is about as natural as it gets, isn't it?"

"Yes, I should think it qualifies," he guided the car around a bend and glanced back over at her. "And you _are_ helping, Jo. Right now you're helping assure that this country's supply of honey isn't being artificially depleted, for instance."

"I guess so," she said with a small smile. "You've already seen so many things people have tried out there. I wish you would just tell us what we need to do to get it right."

"I can't," he said shortly, and abruptly sped up, passing a short line of cars and the trundling lorry that had been slowing them all down.

She glanced back as the lorry and its frustrated train were left behind them. "I know, I know. We humans have to figure it out for ourselves, and so on and so on," she sighed in resignation. "I know."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

. . .

Amid lightly rolling hillsides where the first green of the young spring crops were interspersed with fields of sheep, the little yellow car made its way along a ribbon of road wending between them until it finally pulled up to the apiary in question, part of a neatly kept small farm. A simple wooden sign read _Byrne's Bees, _with a painting of a bee and honeycomb beneath it and a secondary placard swinging beneath advertising goat's milk for sale. The little yellow house was looking exceptionally picturesque in the sun, framed as it was with the early spring blossoms of apple and plum trees.

Introducing themselves as being there to inspect the bees and to see if they could find out anything about the recent honey thievery, they were quickly welcomed into the cozy little back kitchen and seated at a small wooden table spread with bright oilcloth and accented with, most appropriately, a crock of honey and a partially melted beeswax candle.

"Now, have you had anything to eat?" the woman, Mrs. Byrne, asked, having already customarily inquired after their health, commented on the weather and delivered a piece of neighborhood gossip that meant nothing to them. "I've some scones left that would go down well after a long drive like that and I'll make you up some sandwiches in just a bit."

"Thank you," the Doctor said, accepting the plate she passed to him. "We won't be in your way for too long. Where were your bees located when the honey was taken?"

She turned from the sideboard where she'd been fetching a jar of jam to go with the scones. "Well, you get right to business, don't you now? But that's all right, that's all right. I just don't mind a bit of a visit and I forget sometimes that other folk are in more of a hurry than I am. It's just off to the north side of the apple orchard there," she gestured with the jam still in hand. She put it down in front of him and popped off the lid. "Though they've been moved down a bit since then. I penned up the goats so they shouldn't be a bother, they keep the grass down around the trees you know. Oh goats. Cheese," she said, reaching to add a pot of soft farmer's cheese to the pot of jam.

"Have you been a beekeeper for long?" Jo asked politely, reaching to snag a scone before the Doctor ate them all. She had learned she had to be quick around him or go hungry.

"My mother's family was from up near Conwy," Mrs. Byrne said. "Some of the finest beekeeping in the country there, you know, honey runs in the blood."

"You must be very proud of that," Jo observed, having no idea what was being referred to and thinking the analogy sounded odd. She tried to be pleasant.

"Have you ever been to the Honey Festival there?"

"No, sorry."

"Well, you'll have to, dearie, no one who has any love of bees should be missing that one. Now, did you bring your kit?"

"My kit?"

"You can't go out in that little dress. Pretty as a flower but the bees will go right down those boots and get themselves stuck, poor little things. You don't have your bee clothes with you?"

"Oh! Um, no," Jo said, shifting her feet in horror at the very thought.

She patted Jo's hand. "Well, don't you worry. You can borrow some of mine, just a tick!" She bustled down the hall.

Jo took the opportunity to snag a second small scone from the plate, spreading it with the jam. "She's a bit of a talker, isn't she?" she said in an amused undertone.

"Lonely people sometimes are," the Doctor observed, popping nearly half a scone in his mouth and enunciating around it. "By the look of things I expect she's a widow."

"Why does she think we already know about bees?"

"The cover for UNIT. She's more likely to be accepting of experts in bees, than investigators of alien incursions. And I do know something of them, so I think we can manage." Having rapidly finished the scone, he stood, eyeing the door to the back yard.

"You can maybe, but what about me?"

"Here you go, dearie," Mrs. Byrne called as she came. "This is one of my old ones, but it's clean and should fit you, you're so close to my size." She set a small bundle of tan cloth on the table, thankfully missing Jo's reaction to being thus compared to such a round woman. The beekeeper eyed the Doctor up and down. "But my bits and bobs won't work for you, now will they?" she chuckled. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, I have just the thing." She pattered back down the hallway towards the bedroom.

Jo picked up the floppy veiled hat. "I guess if it keeps the bees out…" she said.

"At least it's simple to dress the part," the Doctor said, shaking out the matching light coverall and handing it to her. "You aren't allergic to them, are you?"

"No, but I can't say I like to be stung." Jo took the coverall and after a moment, gingerly climbed into it. As expected, it was a too big around but at least the length worked. She wrapped the cloth belt around and knotted it so it wouldn't be so baggy.

"Now, there's a tin smoker in the shed there if you need it," the beekeeper called as she bustled back in from her bedroom again, another set of clothing folded over her arm. "The matches are right beside it. You know how to use one? Of course you do. And here, this set was my husband's, God bless him, and he was a long man like you. It should fit." She patted the Doctor's arm as she laid out another coverall, hat and gloves set on the table.

"I don't need anything, Madam, I assure you. Bees don't bother me at all."

"Are you quite sure? At least take a hat," she said, stuffing it into his hands.

"I really don't need it, but thank you," he replied politely.

"Go on, put it on!" she insisted. "It won't muss up your curls." He blinked as she took it back out of his hands and with an expert twitch, fluffed the veil open and jumped up on her tiptoes to pop it over his head.

Jo stifled a giggle behind her hand as he apparently decided the best way out was to simply graciously allow it, stooping because she was so determined to help him with it that she was hopping up and down around him like a little apron-bedecked hen. He finally straightened, adjusting the strings.

"There," she was saying with satisfaction. "Now at least you won't get them in your hair. My man never did like them in his hair, as long as he had hair, that is."

"I'm sure that he appreciated your attention to the matter. Meet me in the orchard as soon as you're ready, Jo," he said and with a small bow to their hostess, quickly went out the screened kitchen door and into the back garden. They could hear him singing quietly beneath his breath as he strode away. The two women watched him through the window, following the little brick pathway around the sunny cutting-flowers then walking towards the apple-trees. He lifted a bright burgundy velvet arm invitingly and tiny golden motes of bees came to settle on it.

"That one's a natural bee-keeper, he is," the lady said with deep approval. "The bees know a good man when they see one. Do the two of you keep many back at your home?"

Jo had bent down to double and triple-check that her pant hems were well tucked into her boots. She looked up with surprise. "Oh no. I mean, I just have a flat, myself. I can't even keep my houseplants alive, I'm gone so often."

She tut-tutted. "I'm sorry dearie. You got along so naturally, I thought he was your husband."

"Oh no! No, no, I'm not married," laughed Jo, a little embarrassed at the matron's scrutiny of her hands, which were, as usual, covered with rings.

"All those rings and no husband?" the lady said and shook her head, clucking her tongue in good humour. "Ah, girls these days. Is _he_?"

"What, the Doctor?" Jo said with an honest laugh that seemed to indicate it was ludicrous to even consider. "No."

The woman leaned her comfortable bulk against the wooden table and wiped her hands on her apron, looking out the window at the colours of the garden again. "My husband, God bless him and keep him, was a fair hop older than I was. Oh, how my mother carried on when we were married, you would think I was one of those terrible girls you read about in the papers, you know the ones I mean. They marry old rich men and wait for them to die." She chuckled, looking up at the kitchen lamp, lost in memory. "Why, there were times we barely had two coins to rub together, but we were happy. We were happy. He was a natural gardener, you know. And we kept bees."

Jo smiled at her, honestly touched. "That's very sweet," she said. "I'm sorry he's gone, though. That must be quite hard for you."

She brushed it off. "Oh, it was a long time ago now. I do well enough here, we countryfolk watch out for one another. And goodness knows I've plenty to keep me busy!" She blinked, her eyes focusing as she returned to the present and suddenly made shooing motions with her hands. "Now run along, dearie, run, go find your… well, whatever you want to call him if you don't want to call him your beau. But just between us, you really ought to consider making it official, he's quite a handsome figure of a man, isn't he? And a girl as sweet as you really ought to be married."

Jo looked down, pulling the long leather gloves over her hands, self-consciously blushing and wishing the subject would change. "Thank you," she managed and went out as quickly as she could without seeming to flee.

. . .

She found him in the orchard, sprinkled in velvety bees and apparently happy that way. He was humming and singing something she couldn't understand and the bee-hat was off, hanging by its strings like a voluminous bonnet. A golden cluster of bees danced on his forearm and he was carefully petting them with the tip of a finger.

"They like you!" she said in wonder as she came up.

He glanced over at her with a smile. "Oh, most creatures will appreciate someone who properly appreciates _them._ Honeybees are quite social." He went back to humming and petting them. More of them arrived, settling around his shoulders and picking their way across him like tiny finicky cats, a few seemed to be carefully exploring his curls. He didn't seem to mind.

Jo gave an involuntary little shiver at the thought of bees in her hair and pulled the drawstring on the netting veil around her hat. "So," she said. "What are we looking for again? Besides bees."

"Clues," he said. "Residue, markings that might indicate what kind of vehicle was used, anywhere near the orchard boundaries. I'm trying to see if I can get any reaction from the first-hand witnesses here."

"You can talk to bees?" Jo wasn't sure if he might be joking.

"Well, it's not quite talking, is it? I've been duplicating a variety of frequencies for them to see if any of them are associated with any kind of threat to their hive. They have a community memory, some of them may have been nearby when the abduction of their fellow bees took place."

"Isn't that kind of a dangerous thing to do? They'd probably sting you if you scared them all of the sudden. I could get that smoking thing."

"_Hmm. Hmmmm_," he hummed. "I don't want to stun them with the smoke, it confuses them. But if you're concerned, you're welcome to use it. Might as well fetch it for yourself before that rather persistent woman decides you need it," he said. "She may come after you."

"I'll say. You left her quick enough, I noticed."

"The wisest course when someone is determined to foist something off on you. Especially if it's something you don't even need." He glanced up curiously. "I'm sorry, Jo. Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no. Don't mind me. I'll go get that smoker and then I'll start looking for those impressions in the dirt."

"Good thinking." He went back to humming. "Measure the depth if you find any."

Jo made her way back to the shed, which apparently served as pump-house, potting shed, honey jar storage and all around catchall for the small farm. The smoker was easily lit and soon smouldering nicely. Carrying it along, she tromped through the grasses past a small wire and wood enclosure where a pair of nanny-goats blinked sleepily at her, one tiny kid pushing its way through the gapping wooden gate to stare after her as she her way out to the edge of the orchard.

The smoke swirled past and she blinked away the sting of it in her eyes. All about her in the dappled sunshine living bits of humming bright velvet swirled up like golden sparks, lifting from the blooming grasses as she went, swerving away from her veil and smoke, never coming close enough to be in any danger of staying, or stinging. Perhaps she was influenced by the Doctor's own lack of fear for them, or perhaps it was just the effect of a quiet spring day but she didn't shy from them and even enjoyed the sight of them dancing about her. She whimsically lifted an arm in invitation as she'd seen him do, but they shied clear of her.

Of course, as long as she kept up the veil and smoke she would be left alone. There was something deeper in that thought that twinged at her heart but she pushed it away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

. . .~*~. . .

Zig-zagging in and out from the orchard's boundary, Jo walked along, keeping her eyes to the ground as she examined grass clumps, mole hills and any other irregularity in the earth without much interest. The bees avoided her, but the smoker she carried was feeling heavy and she began thinking of abandoning it and just taking her chances now that she was away from their boxes. On top of that, she was finding the entire exercise very dull; her mind wandered and subsequently she nearly turned an ankle when an indentation did show up.

"Whoops! Hello," she said, circling it curiously.

Not that it was an unusual shape, it was more like a regular hole, but there was a noticeable regularity to it as if it had only recently and suddenly been punched into the earth with no evidence of digging around it.

"Probably just a hole from a fence post or something," she muttered. It certainly didn't look very interesting, as alien evidences went, but still she supposed it fit the definition of an 'impression in the dirt'.

She dutifully set down the smoker and pulled out a retractable measuring tape from her purse. "If anything is living down in there, sorry!" she said and poked it into the hole. A little ways down she found the damp spring earth had already filled it a good way up with brown water and it was deeper than she'd at first expected. She pulled the tape back up, encouraged, and turned back to the trees.

"I found a hole near the bee hives!" she announced, sending the same small curious goat bounding away as she finally located the Doctor in the workshed. Setting down the smoker just outside the door she pulled off the veil. "Only one, but it looked promising."

"How wide? Was it square or triangular?" He didn't look up from the tray of honeycomb he had laid out on the work surface. A partial tray of sandwiches sat near him, apparently brought out there by Mrs. Byrne.

"Um, about a foot wide, I think. Kind of roundish square and deep."

He looked over at her then. "It was probably a post-hole," he said with some annoyance and disappointment. "Really, Jo. This _is_ a farm of sorts, after all. Was that all?"

She crossed her arms in some annoyance of her own. "Really, Doctor. Do you think I can't tell an ordinary post-hole from something unusual? I may be a city-girl, I know, but I _do_ know a few basics about farming and gardening and you really…"

"Very well, very well!" he said, raising his hands in surrender before she could really gather a good head of steam. "Tell me, then, what made this particular post-hole unusual?"

"It was tremendously deep," she said. "Very regular and straight down, so it wasn't dug by an animal. Nearly six feet before I hit bottom."

"Six feet?" His eyebrows quirked in interest. "Significantly deeper than a post-hole."

She blew out a breath of frustration. "That's what I _said!'_

"Show me."

. . . ~*~ . . .

Jo watched as the Doctor paced off the distance from the hole to the orchard's edge and looked down at the little box of dirt she'd been left holding after he'd decided to go ahead and take a soil sample as well. As he came pacing back she shrugged at him. "Any luck?"

"Possibly," he said, pondering. He turned back towards the farm and she automatically fell in beside him.

"We have some other clues," he said as they walked. "For instance, we know they either aren't advanced enough or aren't wealthy enough to have teleportation devices because otherwise they wouldn't be risking discovery by manually picking up the hive boxes. Also, they only want the honey, not the bees, so they aren't selling them or eating them."

"Eating them?"

"I've been told they are considered a delicacy by some of the tribal people here on Earth, so they're obviously edible."

Jo scrunched her shoulders. "I don't want to think about that too much. What's another clue?"

"What the bees told me."

"The bees? You mean that singing thing you were doing actually worked? I kind of wondered if you were pulling my leg." He looked slightly wounded, so she amended "Not that you don't have a nice voice, I'm sure" to make up for it.

He gave a little snort at that and continued on. "The frequency they respond to is somewhat low, about 80 hertz, which indicates a possible low-phase spectral density drive on the ship, at least while inside the atmosphere. That not only matches up with the purple toned lighting, it narrows the field considerably. Add relative convenience to this solar system and fact they haven't been destructive or threatening…"

"They even gave the hives back, sort of," Jo nodded, trotting slightly to keep up with his longer stride.

"Yes," he said, slowing down for her. "Not the expected activities of the criminal mind. It may simply be a misunderstanding. And as I was saying about the type of ship, I expect that hole you found was needed as a tether."

"Tether? You mean like a balloon?"

"If a low-phase engine is set on hover, it has a notorious propensity for drifting. Holding them completely in place is almost impossible, so the pilot would likely drop a tethering post. If we were to examine the other locations, I expect you'd find the same."

"And no one would notice because it looks like a post-hole."

"Quite." He ducked under a low hanging apple-tree branch, accidentally breaking off a clump of apple-blossoms. "With the repeat pattern, it's as if they're coming back around because they can't help themselves. Something is driving them."

"So it's like a drug?" Jo asked, stooping to pick up the blooms. She twirled them in her fingers, a bit disturbed at the idea of dealing with potential addicts.

"Honey should have no addictive qualities beyond taste."

"And if it were taste?" A bee hummed nearby and she abruptly dropped the blooms.

"In that scenario, I think it would have to be more like a bad habit."

"Junk food."

"Possibly. A temporary feeling of contentment and calm instead of the more lasting kind that comes from proper health."

"All right. Comfort food then,"

"Comfort food?" he held up another branch, letting her pass under it then following.

"What you eat when you're all depressed and bleah. Like pasta and chocolate. But not together, I mean."

"Mm. The point I was trying to make is that they aren't native, so there's bound to be something better that fits them, a native equivalent from their own world. Unless they're viewing it as merely exotic."

"Like… like someone who drinks French champagne when what he really needs is just some plain old grape juice."

"Yes," he agreed mildly. "Like that."

"But what if they really _do_ want champagne because the bubbles really _are_ so much more interesting?"

"Then let them drink it – a little. The problem we're facing here is the repetition."

"_And_ it's illegal?"

"The grass is always greener as you say. Though the reality is if it _is _a chemical need, a non-native substitute will lack what they need to stabilize that craving."

"I wish everything didn't have to be so complex," she said, plucking a bit of half-opened lavender as they came back into the yard. She paused, running it through her fingers.

He looked over at her, bright in the sunlight as she was watched the honeybees sipping from the lavender plants that edged this part of the yard. He was glad to see her fear of the bees had somewhat subsided; the relaxed good-natured chattiness returning. He'd never completely understood quite what it was that triggered the shifting of her moods. "You could say that's the trouble. It's entirely possible the honey is too complex in some ways and not complex enough in others," he said. "So it doesn't quite match up, though I'm sure the taste is sweet."

She twirled the lavender sprig, still thoughtful and started walking again. "And everyone loves sweet. You know, just in general, aside from things that are obviously illegal, I still think it's better to go after something that's extra special instead of just settling for something mundane."

"You mean for yourself."

"I guess so. Mundane is easier to find but not very interesting. I don't want to spend my life doing something boring."

She looked up at him seeming sincerely troubled by this. He reached out a hand to smooth her hair in a comforting gesture. "I doubt you ever would! But the mundane, as you call it, doesn't necessarily equate with _boring_. I've found Earth life to be quite fascinating."

She tapped him with the lavender. "Ah, but to you it's not _mundane_, see? It's exotic. I live here, so to me it's boring."

"Then maybe the answer isn't in looking for something alien and exotic, but in being able to see your own world with exotic eyes."

"Ooh, I like that. Exotic eyes. It sounds quite poetry-like."

"Does it? I suppose it does. Don't worry, I won't make a habit of it."

. . . ~*~ . . .

He went ahead of her to open the shed door, waving her in as if she were entering a ballroom instead of a dusty work building, then turned, frowning as the curious little kid craned its neck around the opposite corner to look at him, then gave a little wheezing cough. Putting out a hand and stooping so as not to appear so tall, he slowly went over to it, then half-knelt in the damp grass.

He spoke a few soft syllables. "Hello there," he added softly as the little goat suddenly ran to him, nuzzling tremulously into his arm. "What are _you_ doing here, hm?"

Jo set her little box of dirt on the work table and picked up one of the cheese sandwiches that still sat on the plate, nibbling at it. Outside she heard him murmuring little noises at that goat she'd glimpsed, but at least he wasn't singing to it in any goaty way. She smiled at the whimsical thought.

The Doctor abruptly came in very businesslike, brushing past her, not to do anything with the box of dirt he'd been so interested in only a few moments ago, but to stuff what appeared to be his own handkerchief into a clean glass jar. He patted his pockets, finally pulling out a small chemical testing kit he'd apparently brought along from the lab.

"Jo, in light of what I'm now supposing will be the nature of our visitors, I'll need a candle," he said, adding a little water and holding the jar with its wet bit of cloth in it up to the afternoon light that came through the window. He dropped something in with a dropper. "Hm-hmm. One of those short ones off of that kitchen table would do. Some cider vinegar, if it's available, and I think a bit of rubbing alcohol. Clean cheesecloth, a knife, a good sized bottle of whiskey or similar spirits, cinnamon, a bottle of lemon juice – or any citrus really… lemon would be best, a few whole cloves… yes, that'll do for a start."

Jo nodded and quelling her curiosity about the sudden rush and the strange collection of oddments so abruptly requested, headed for the house. She was afraid she'd forget most of it if she didn't.

. . .~*~ . . .

Mrs. Byrne shook her head over the generous collection of household goods that she was helping Jo pile into a canvas sack. She only balked at one thing.

"Whisky?" the lady's eyebrows narrowed a bit suspiciously as she held the two dusty bottles she'd pulled from the back of a cupboard. "I don't see why anyone needs something like that for anything to do with bees. If he's wanting a nip, why doesn't he just say so?"

"I don't think he'll be drinking any of it, Mrs. Byrne," Jo said patiently. "Whatever he's testing it must need something with the high alcohol content."

"_He'll_ be the one with high content," the woman said, unconvinced. "I've seen the excuses men use. Pretending it's just for medicine, saying they need it to clean the tractor engine, all that sort of nonsense."

"All right," Jo said, resigned. "That's all right." She reached for her purse and dug inside it for keys.

"What are you doing?"

"Driving to town," Jo said. "I have to get him what he needs for his work, it's part of my job."

"Oh, now…" the lady blustered uncomfortably, following her. "I won't be sending you out, not to have you going to buy liquor, a young lady alone in one of those places?"

"I'll be fine," Jo assured her. "Really, don't worry." Leaving her hostess at the steps, she ran out to Bessie, trying to remember how far it had been back to the nearest town. She was halfway into the seat when she jumped back out, realizing she hadn't taken the rest of the items out to the Doctor yet, or even told him she would be leaving. Going around the house rather than through it, she slipped through the gate and nearly ran right into Mrs. Byrne again.

The round little beekeeper was clutching the heavy canvas bag of goods that clinked with bottles. She looked a bit abashed. "I admit I'm right glad to see you haven't gone yet. I, well, I suppose it's all right. Here you are, but you be a good girl, and tell your man he's not to be tempted by it. I won't let him in the house if he's drinking, I won't. My man had to sleep outside, and that's the rule my house still abides by."

Jo gave her a little impulsive embrace. "Thank you, Mrs. Byrne! Thank you."

. . . ~*~ . . .

Coming back into the shed with her treasures, Jo was surprised to find the little goat with its legs comfortably tucked beneath it sitting on the bench inside. The Doctor was sitting beside it, one hand stroking its back in a comforting manner.

"Oh," she said. "Well, look who came to visit!" She hefted the bag onto the work surface and turned to have a closer look.

"In more ways than one," the Doctor said softly. "Don't worry, she won't hurt you."

"What?" Jo, who had been reaching out a hand to scritch its head stopped. He'd been talking to the _goat_.

The little kid turned its eyes from the Doctor to her and she gave a startled gulp, stepping back in surprise. They weren't goat-eyes. They were too round, too dark, too _almost_-human, like those of a wide-eyed child in a darkened room.

They were alien.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

. . .~*~ . . .

"What is that?" she asked, trying to hide her reflexive pounding of the heart at finding something she'd thought was completely familiar was suddenly alien. She realized she'd nearly shouted and quickly modulated her voice to a softer tone. "I thought it was a goat… is that its natural form or is it mimicking something?"

He smoothed its back and murmured something comforting under his breath. It still stared at her, but then slowly relaxed against him again.

"_She_," he said, "is in her natural form, which merely happens to be quite close in appearance to a kid. She's quite young. And from what I've been able to gather, she's been lost for about five days."

"When the honey was taken!" Jo immediately connected.

"Exactly so, which explains the repetition in the ship's pattern over this week."

Jo looked down at the little goatish-person-child now with sympathy and knelt down beside the bench to be more at her level. "Aw, they're _looking_ for her. Poor little thing! But why were they taking the honey with them, then?"

"Medicinal - because she's sick, which likely means the other children are as well. The tests I ran on her saliva sample came back positive."

"Sick? Is it…serious?"

"It could become serious left for too long. It affects the throat, which may be part of why she'll only give me whispers; I'm sure hiding in a cold goat-pen all these days hasn't helped. Honey would soothe it and keep it at a reasonable comfort, though it isn't a cure."

"What is a cure then? Can't you help her?"

He unexpectedly smiled. "Yes. What we'll be mixing up here is essentially a cough syrup with a little twist to the recipe to account for the different mineral balances and general immune system characteristics our representative example displays. It should have her back on her feet within two or three days." The tiny back spasmed briefly and the kid gave a painful wheeze. He rubbed at her throat, and the eyes drooped back shut. "I wanted to mix up as much as we could so I can give it to her family along with the recipe, they've probably several cases to need that much honey."

Jo held out a hand and tentatively smoothed the fur, which felt spikier than she'd expected. "What's her name?" The little one looked like she might really be falling asleep.

"She won't tell me. Or it's possible she doesn't have one. Communal family systems don't always label their individuals the same way we might." After a moment, he gently detached himself, tucking his folded cloak against her where he'd been. "We need to start that mixture if it's going to be ready for her family tonight."

Jo stood, accepting the bottles he began juggling her way out of the canvas sack. "Speaking of that family… you don't think they'll be dangerous? I mean, if they think you kidnapped her or something they might get quite cross. Maybe we should call for a backup."

"No, not likely. I've only met her species once before, but I do remember they travel as an extended family, grandparents, babies and all."

Jo looked impressed with the oversized enameled metal bowl he set before her as he talked. "What'd they use this for? Would make a groovy popcorn bowl… Well, that doesn't sound too bad. Maybe they were just bringing the family to Earth for a bit of holiday and got carried away with letting the kids run around?" She struggled with the lid of the bottle of lemon juice.

"Perhaps. And no, I'll radio in so they know we'll be staying through the night, but no backups. The last thing a traumatized child needs is gun-happy soldiers, no matter how well meaning they may be." The Doctor said this last with some vehemence. Having crafted a warmer with the candle, a jar lid and a colander stand, was now beginning to carefully melt some of the honeycomb wax together with honey while she dutifully mixed some of the other substances by pouring them into the bowl as directed.

No one else from UNIT then. She looked back over at the tiny, furry goat-child sleeping trustingly on the bench behind her and for once she had to agree.

. . .~*~. . .

"It's going to be dark pretty soon," Jo noted. The Doctor had fetched in a double handful of assorted greenery from the patch of young kitchen herbs, which he now had her mashing into a sort of sharp-scented green paste and her arms were getting sore.

"Is it?" He glanced out the small window, having been preoccupied with carefully measuring mashed roots and, weirdly, some tar soap for inclusion. "Just as well. We're nearly finished, we can ladle it into those jars for transport."

Jo nodded. "Do you know when they'll come?" She stirred in the paste. The resulting huge bowlful they'd assembled was goopy and pungent; she thought it smelled odd but not as bad as she'd first feared it would, with the whiskey being especially strong. Pushing up her sleeves, she took up a clean honey jar and obediently filled it. It _looked _vile. "I'm sure glad it isn't me having to take this."

"The only variable we can be sure of is darkness. They've been quite reasonably using night for cover." He bent to warm a little of the concoction for their patient, glancing over to the little not-goat kid still motionless in spite of her occasional harsh wheezing sounds, cuddled against his cloak.

"She's still sleeping," Jo noted. "That's not bad, is it?"

"No; she was exhausted. A shame to even disturb her to take this dose, but the sooner she can start healing the better."

"Miss? Miss Grant? Doctor Smith?" came Mrs. Byrne's voice out of the twilight.

"Go see what she wants, will you, Jo?" the Doctor said. He moved to settle on the opposite side of the bench, angling to shield any view of their sleeping charge from casual eyes.

"Dinnertime! I've soup!" came the voice, answering the question even as Jo moved to the door.

"Are we having soup?" Jo asked the Doctor as she went.

"Tell her I'll be in shortly. Keep her occupied," he replied briefly, bending to listen to his patient's breathing.

"Right."

Jo walked back to the house, meeting their hostess near the kitchen entrance. "Thank you," she said pleasantly as she came. "We really appreciate it. The Doctor'll be along in just a few minutes."

"Oh? It's been so long I wondered if the two of you had gotten lost out there," she smiled. "Will you be going back tonight? You must have a sup before you do, you know. It's going to be a bit chilled, I think, with the sky so clear like this. Or do you need a place to sleep?" Jo started to open her mouth to respond but the lady just kept on going. "Don't you go spending any money on rooms, dearie! Oh no, that wouldn't do at all. I've an extra room, you know, and you are welcome to stay. I'm sure we can find something for your Doctor as well. And don't say it's too much for me to do because it isn't, it's no trouble at all."

"I… well, yes," Jo managed as they went into the kitchen. She washed her hands and went to help lay out the dishes on the table, where a steaming tureen of soup already held court over a small array of vegetables. "The Doctor said it could be a while still, though I'm sure he'll be done by morning. We'd be glad to stay."

Mrs. Byrne beamed at that and went to fetch a basket of rolls. "Glad to be a help," she said. "It's so nice to have company."

. . .~*~. . .

It was a rather wordy supper of soup and bread; Mrs. Byrne provided nearly all the words, peppering them with accounts of her younger days, the plights of relatives and the vagaries of current agricultural politics. The Doctor, who had come in and eaten politely and unusually quietly, slipped back out as soon as he was done and Jo followed as soon as it seemed polite to do so. She really didn't want the poor woman to think they were avoiding her, but it _was _a little overwhelming, and besides, there were still the bottles of cough medicine to make up.

It was only after all the little bottles were filled and neatly capped and they'd toted the crateful out into the darkening orchard together, then made the return trip with his cradling the trusting little goat-child in his cloak that she realized she would have to go back in eventually to avoid the woman coming out looking for her.

She ran a couple gentle fingers over the child's furred back, watching as the little not-goaty toes uncurled to clasp the edge of the fabric more firmly about her. "I suppose I better go," Jo said, realizing she hadn't quite managed to keep the slight resentment from it out of her voice when the Doctor looked over at her curiously. She couldn't help it though, she felt weirdly like she was being chaperoned.

He reached out and touched her arm at the tone. "You don't have to stay in there if you find the woman difficult," he said. "I'm sure we can…"

"No, I'll stay." She suddenly dimpled mischievously up at him. "I'm used to dealing with difficult." She succeeded in getting one of those 'slightly offended in a vaguely confused way' looks from him and patted the back of his hand. "Don't worry about me. Just don't get into any trouble while I'm gone."

"When have you ever known me to get into trouble?" he said, shifting his tiny burden. "Go on, now. I think I hear her back by the house."

. . .~*~. . .

After Jo feigned being weary to avoid a proposed evening game of two-person whist, the beekeeper then insisted on overseeing her making up a bed. The woman seemed to delight in making it complete with a heavy hand-pieced quilt that coordinated with the thick floral-sprigged flannel night-gown she provided, followed by not being content to retire herself until she saw Jo actually dressed in the floor-length heavy flannel gown. "There, now you look comfortable. You let me know if you need anything at all. Sweet dreams, dearie…" she said, patting the covers and then pulling the door softly shut as if Jo were a child.

For the Doctor she had pulled out a cot in the shed and made it up with blankets, telling Jo it wouldn't be proper of course for him to be in the house at night with the young lady. Jo just nodded and let her do so, knowing the Doctor wouldn't be using it anyway; he would probably be out in the orchard watching for that spaceship thing all night. Or talking to the goats, for all she knew.

"My husband, God bless his soul, used to sleep out there during harvest time, it's really quite comfortable so don't you worry your head about him," she'd said, clucking as she finally began turning off the lights to ready the house for nighttime.

"Oh, I wasn't," Jo assured her. "I expect he'd rather be out there anyway."

"Men are so funny that way, aren't they? I tell you, the number of times I used to go out at night and find my man walking out in the trees at night instead of being in his own warm bed as you'd think he'd want to be, dear me… but it was very nice, under the stars that way."

Now laying in the dark and looking up at the bit of stars she could see through the window, Jo smiled, wondering if it hadn't been just to get a break from his talkative wife, though she wisely kept that thought to herself. Somewhere just a little ways out there, she knew her friend was standing beneath those stars himself, holding a tiny, helpless alien child in his arms. Apple blossoms would be sprinkling down on them both. It was an oddly comforting mental picture, and she drifted off with her imaginings and worries at peace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

. . .~*~. . .

Jo awoke to flashing purple lights.

She'd deliberately flipped the curtains back on the little guest room and slept with pillows propped to ensure she would be facing towards the window, but she was still disoriented for a moment at being in a strange place. Starting to roll the wrong way, she bumped into the wall, then quickly flapped her way up out of the blankets.

Disentangled from the covers, she jumped up to peek out the window; a circle of lavender-purple lights was just visible, hovering near the orchard. Pulling wads of voluminous night-gown out of the way, she stuffed her feet into her boots and ran out the back door, barely remembering to catch the screen door before it banged shut.

The humming was more noticeable outside. Gathering up the gown in her hands again she ran out across the dew-wet grasses, hoping the Doctor had been right to think there wouldn't be any violence. Not that she didn't think he was more than capable of defending himself if he had to, but still – well, she should be there just in case.

. . .~*~. . .

By the time she got there, it was over, or so it appeared. She made her way up through the last rows of trees to see the Doctor, silhouetted against the lavender-periwinkle lighting, the now-empty cloak over his arm and a hand raised in a gesture of farewell.

A triangular lift was going up towards the ship like a giant metal piece of pie, the shape of a trio of goaty-looking people on it dimly seen. She'd been a bit curious to see if the adults still looked at goaty as the children and was rather disappointed to have missed the happy reunion, if there had been one.

Seeing her movement among the trees, he made a quick little gesture – _stay back_ – and she obediently halted, stepping behind one of the trees for good measure. He was backing up as well, and after a moment she saw why: A slot opened in the ship and from it descended something that was now quite familiar to her, a wooden beehive box. It turned a bit as it came, dangling, then touched the ground gently. The ropy-clamp thing that had been holding it released and withdrew, leaving it standing alone on the grasses, safe and sound, if tipped a bit sideways. It was next to something thin and dark that Jo belatedly realized must be the 'tether'.

The Doctor raised a hand and signaled something that was apparently acknowledged, then finally turned and came back to where she was watching, still half-hidden behind the fat grey bole of the old apple tree.

The tether pole telescoped inward, pulling up with a schlorping thump as it retracted into the ship. Wet dirt clods and bits of grass sprinkled down, but that was all. A welcome sense of relief filled her as the ship hummed more deeply and lifted away, stirring the leaves of the orchard with its wake. After some of the other things they'd been through together, she realized she'd still half-expected it to suddenly sprout a weapon for the aliens to rid themselves of any witnesses; it wasn't as far-fetched of a scenario as she would have once liked to think. Even seeing the lights continuing on upward, she still couldn't quite stop herself from grabbing one of his arms as he came near and blurting "They weren't angry?"

He looked slightly surprised. "Of course not. They were too pleased to have the child back to be angry, especially as she was obviously unhurt. Why would they be? I gave them the remedy and the recipe for the illness, which was just as well, even I could hear the coughing up inside the ship. The alternate recipe uses a common honey substitute they should be able to purchase readily enough." He absently swung his cloak back over his shoulders.

"Well, that's good news. They won't get in trouble from some kind of moon patrol or something?"

"A what?"

"Whatever you call the bobbies who patrol this part of the solar system, the whatsit, intergalactic law."

"Moon patrol," he echoed, obviously amused. "My dear Jo, there isn't anything of the sort. I _did _remind them that it was a good thing it had been for a humanitarian reason or they could have been in serious trouble. I think the mere threat of being reported to the authorities back where they came from was more than enough."

She relaxed. "Well, that sounds all right then."

They both looked up towards the sky again, but the ship was already out of sight. The night sky was clear and dark, the stars shining brightly this far away from the obscuring lights of the city. The apple trees glowed softly with their blooms reflecting that dim silver light. After the humming, it all seemed very quiet.

Jo hugged the damp flannel around herself. Now that the excitement was over she was also suddenly aware of the chill. The Doctor noticed the movement and gently pulled her over, enclosing her with him in the woolen warmth of his cloak.

"You're cold."

"A little," she admitted. "What should we do about that hive box thing sitting out there?"

He glanced over toward the darkened field. "I suppose I ought to at least straighten it up," he said. "I'll take care of it after you're back where it's warm."

"I'm already where it's warm," she argued lightly.

He considered her reluctance to move. "Mrs. Byrne isn't still awake, is she?"

"Oh no, unless I woke her when I ran out of the house."

"Hm. I thought you meant you just didn't want to go back."

She smiled up at him. "And _I_ thought you just wanted to get rid of me so you could have a nice, quiet night to yourself."

He turned and slowly walked along with her still inside the circle of his cloak. "I have enough of those. A little company is welcome now and then, as our talkative hostess mentioned earlier this evening."

"She does carry on," Jo nodded, "though I'm sure she means well."

They walked companionably in silence for a few minutes. Jo looked up at him, just able to make out his silver-white hair in the night, backed by a dark lace of blossoming branches. She could see his own gaze was turned upwards again, toward the stars. "Tell me about that star," she said.

He looked down at her, brought back out of wherever his thoughts had taken him. "Star?"

"The one you were looking at just now. _I _look up and just see stars, just bunches of them. _You_ look at _particular_ stars. I know you. So tell me about it. Have you ever been there?"

His arm tightened around her in gratitude for her understanding. "Yes, a long time ago."

"A long time for you or for me?"

"For both of us. It has two habitable planets in its solar system that both developed life. The two dominant life-forms finally learned to get along after an admittedly rocky start."

"Are there flowers?"

He smiled. "On one of them."

"The lucky ones. I would hate to live in a world that didn't have them."

"If they don't have them they don't miss them, unlike someone who was obviously intended for a world with flowers in it."

"Like me, you mean," she agreed. "All right. So, the flower people and the no-flowers people, what were they like?"

"I'm fascinated at the way you can simplify an entire dual-species intercultural system down to whether they had flowers or not."

"Which were more peaceful and happy? I _bet_ it was the flower people," she persisted.

"I suppose, but the other factors that were…"

She poked his chest with a finger. "Just admit it! I was right, wasn't I? The flower people are the peaceful ones."

He laughed lightly. "All right. They were. Happy?"

"Yes. Now tell me about what happened there and make it a good zinger."

He glanced over toward the dark-windowed house they were nearing. "Aren't you tired?"

"No, I like walking like this," she said, leaning against him as they slowly strolled. She took a deep breath; the night air was fresh, the warmth of the wool and velvet were scented of herbs, honey, lemon and whiskey. "Now go on."

"All right," he said after a moment, adjusting the cloak closer around her. "It was very early in the morning when I first landed. I was near the shore of one of the widest rivers you can well imagine, very nearly a fresh-water sea, really. Quite intriguing, the way the tidal system was affected. The giant reeds that grow along the water exude a natural purple dye in the spring, so the first thing I saw was the most amazing peach sun rising up over a lavender sea, all framed in golden reeds."

"Mm. And there were flowers?"

"And there were flowers."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

. . .~*~. . .

"Good morning!" Mrs. Byrne's voice called heartily from the hallway. Jo slowly sat up, still groggy with the late night she'd kept. "Breakfast will be on the table in a trice."

She untangled herself at last from the unfamiliar heavy gown and dressed, glad that the smell of coffee was wafting from the kitchen. She would probably need it.

"Would you like eggs?" her hostess asked as she came into the room. "I do wish I had bacon to go with it, but at least we have fresh scones."

"Oh, no thank you," Jo yawned. "Just coffee, please. The scones do smell delicious."

"You were out last night in the orchard with that Doctor, weren't you?" she smiled as she poured a cup of coffee and set it on the table. "Oh, I miss those walks with my man. Enjoy them while you can, dearie. And don't you worry, I kept my eyes inside my own house, far be it from me to interrupt a bit of billing and cooing!"

Jo opened her mouth as if she would say something, thought the better of it and took a bite of hot scone instead, blowing at the heat of it. It tasted of butter and honey. "You didn't tell the Doctor that, did you?" she finally managed to ask.

"Oh no," the lady laughed. "Women's advice is best for women's ears only. But it's good sound advice, my dear. Starlight is one of the quickest ways to the heart, you know. Starlight and good home-cooked food." She poured another cup of coffee and added cream, then sipped at it. "But it's those little shared moments together every day that really are the sweetest. They are. He's a _good_ man, isn't he?" She looked over at Jo for confirmation almost a touch anxiously.

"Well, yes," Jo said. "But…"

She clucked with approval. "Of course he's a good man, the bees knew."

Jo smiled hopefully at this, hoping the topic could be turned to bees instead. "Oh yes, they liked him very much."

"Not the only ones?" the woman quickly hinted, making Jo inwardly sigh. "Though of course I wouldn't presume to dictate to _him_ how he really ought to be giving some thought to planning a properly respectable future for... Oh, hush hush!" she suddenly fluttered, as if Jo had been the one doing the talking instead of her. "_Here he comes_," she added in a stage whisper. Turning back to the kitchen, she busied herself with pretending to find a spoon for the jam.

Jo looked up gratefully as the Doctor entered the back door, looking fresh, awake and typically impeccable. He set down the canvas bag with all that was left of the household goods they'd borrowed. "Good morning, Mrs. Byrne, Jo."

The lady bobbed cheerfully. "Good morning to you, sir. Help yourself. Coffee and scones. A lovely bright springtime morning it is, bright as a lady's eyes after a kiss under the apple trees, ey?"

Jo sunk down in her seat, completely horrified. Thankfully the Doctor only nodded as if this were a perfectly normal way to be greeted in the morning and picked up one of the scones, pulling up one of the chairs as she set a cup of coffee down in front of him.

"I do believe our work here is done, Mrs. Byrne," he announced casually after a moment. "I'd like to thank you for your warm hospitality to both myself and Miss Grant." Jo nudged the sugar-bowl towards him and he spooned some into his coffee.

The woman looked pleased. "Oh, 'twas no trouble at all, no trouble. Anytime. A pleasure, to be sure."

"I'll be filing our report once we're back, and you should be receiving compensation for the supplies you so generously shared. You'll be pleased to know your bees are entirely healthy and all your equipment is in working order."

"It's all the way done then, is it?" she said in mild surprise and something like disappointment. "So you'll be off? And will you leave me a number to ring you if those ruffians or whoever it was comes 'round again or my bees go missing?"

"You shouldn't have to worry about this type of honey thievery happening again," the Doctor assured her. "And the local constabulary would be better able to serve if anything else untoward should occur, I'm sure."

"Well… well, that's nice to hear. Good news is best. And I'm sure my bees will be happier as well," smiled the woman, bobbing slightly. The marigold cotton apron she was wearing that morning made her look a bit like an oversized honeybee herself. "But you'll _have_ to come by in the autumn, Doctor, you know freshly spun out honey is so nice and more hands are always welcome to the work."

"I'm sure it's a busy time," he replied noncommittally.

Leaning forward on the table she confided, "You really ought to start some bees. Your fiancée here says you aren't a beekeeper, but I know a natural when I see one. And I fully expect you to set a wedding date before then so you'll come visit together!"

"My…" he coughed as Jo spat crumbs and sent a variety of incomprehensible signals to him with her facial expressions over the woman's shoulder. "Well, we'll see. Thank you for the kind invitation and the… helpful advice."

She shook a finger at him. "Well, no offense, just speaking as someone else who isn't getting any younger either, pardon me, you know what's the right thing to do for this pretty young lady of yours."

He stood, setting aside a folded napkin. "The years do rush along, don't they? Come along, Jo, you know, I think it's time we were going."

"Yes," Jo said also standing with great relief, though she hadn't even finished her breakfast. "It _is _a long drive. Thank you, Mrs. Byrne," she added as the Doctor swept an arm around her and steered her across the parlour and right out the front door, grabbing up her coat from the settee as he went. They'd barely made it down the steps and to the car before the woman was on her front stoop waving a jar over her head.

"Oh! Wait! You can't go without some honey!" she called.

"Can you fetch it?" Jo asked in a desperate voice. "I can't face her."

The Doctor didn't comment, he just opened the car door for her and strode back to take the proffered amber jar. Jo gratefully dropped onto Bessie's familiar seat, her cheeks still burning.

"I'm _so_ sorry," she said as he came around to the other side and started the car. "She was just _determined_ to think…well, anyway…"

He handed her the glass jar of honey and looked back, guiding Bessie out onto the road. "She's a most determined individual." He glanced over at her as he shifted gears. "I admit I was surprised, but not offended if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh, I know she's just being old-fashioned. I mean, in the way of thinking that says all young women ought to be married and if they aren't they just have to play matchmaker with whoever is convenient. It's not the first time I've had it happen; my Aunt has tried to match me up with the most _awful_ men."

"I hope I don't fall into that category at least," he said mildly.

"Oh no! That's not what I meant. I was just… I think…well," she said all in a rush. "I think you'd be a very nice catch. If you were human, of course, and, I mean…"

"And not so old?" he smiled.

She laughed. "No, that's not what I was thinking either."

"What were you thinking?" he asked curiously.

She looked out at the passing countryside with its trees and flowers and neat little hedges now rolling past, trying to gather her thoughts into a more coherent pile while he patiently waited. The trees were brilliant with new leaves and the few clouds were high and streaming in mare's tails. She finally spoke again. "I guess I was thinking it was like what you said about the honey, about something being too complex. Someone like you would be the one that's so complex he doesn't fit in. Someone like me would be the one that didn't match up because she wasn't complex enough." She looked down at the jar of honey in her hands.

"But still sweet," he observed.

"Was that a compliment?" she asked after a moment.

"I was afraid you were still thinking that you were mundane and boring as well, which you're decidedly not," he said, wanting to be very clear on that point. "You do realize you don't have to be momentous and dramatic to be important."

"I know," she nodded. "I had that on a poster in my room once. It's the little things that count. It had a daisy on it."

"Here, I've an idea: when we get back to UNIT, I'll finish fixing that transducer and we'll go out and find someplace completely different, something to lift your spirits. A good change of scenery. There's a planet I know of where all the plants are oversized, flowers as big as this car; you can wrap yourself up in the petals. Or maybe you'd like something more like a fancy dress party? There was a fabulous one back in the 1700s I'm thinking of, we could just pop in..."

Jo listened and smiled to herself at the complexity of it, watching the morning sun reflecting off of Bessie's polished bonnet. She couldn't help but think the beekeeper's words _did_ have a bit of wisdom tucked away in them though; those little shared moments together every day, those _were_ the sweetest.

The amber glass glowed in her hands, the sweet, unique product of countless faithful hours, each little bee contributing its simple lot to the greater good. Perhaps her future could be brighter than she'd thought.

. . .~*~. . .

_Fin_


End file.
